


The Snake and the Lion

by Savasta_101



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Mystery, Orphan Harry Potter, Orphan Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24323911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savasta_101/pseuds/Savasta_101
Summary: Harriet Potter grew up an orphan at Hogwarts, exploring dusty corridors with her dæmon, Lev, and best friend Hermione. But there’s a mystery unfolding...something to do with Nicholas Flamel, and Hogwarts is a very different place under Lord Slytherin’s regime.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle
Kudos: 10





	1. The wand chooses the dæmon

Harriet, call me ‘Harry’ Potter, grew up with the other orphans and muggle-born at the castle. It had been one of Lord Slytherin’s first decrees: ‘That no magical child should be abandoned to muggles.’ And so, they were crammed into one of Hogwarts’ empty wings, slipping through dusty rooms like little wraiths.

They weren’t allowed to leave the passages and interact with students, lest they disturb their learning, but even the youngest orphans quickly learnt to cling to the shadows and watch.

The muggleborn were more careful. They all found out why when a little girl called Hermione was found, one eye hanging out of its socket and ‘mudblood’ carved into her shoulder in seeping, angry red letters.   
Apparently, she had the misfortune of choosing Bellatrix Lestrange, a violent Slytherin seventh year, to pester with questions. The rumour was that she had laughed as Hermione screamed.  
They could never remove the brand, and the nurse told Hermione it was a warning ‘to follow the rules’. The terrified little girl took it to heart.

Which is why Harry was having so much trouble convincing her - only - friend to come outside with her and play.   
“No.” said Hermione firmly, turning the page of the giant tome, which was balanced precariously on the seven year old’s lap.  
“But why not?” wheedled Harry.  
“You know why.” said Hermione simply and, when Harry refused to let up, even chucked her precious books at Harry until she had no choice but to flee.

At least Harry had Lev, her dæmon, for company. When she was a baby, he took the form of flamingoes, an imp or a Billwig to entertain her.   
Now Harry was older, Lev shifted to help her in her plans: a strong, black horse to flee the angry acromantulas in the - “But why is it Forbidden Hermione?” - Forest, or a little dormouse in her pocket as they tip-toed ‘round corridors after curfew. Lev even shifted into a bat, to cover Harry’s eyes with his wings, when they came across some prefects sucking at each other’s faces in an empty classroom - “But why would they do that, it looked painful, Hermione? Hermione?”

They were allowed out, once a year, for ‘Adoption Day’. They were herded through the Floo, specially opened for the occasion, into the lush, carpeted entryway of whatever aristocrat felt like hosting charity cases for the day - “You are too kind, Cissa.”  
“Oh, Madame Parkinson, it was the least I could do...”

This year’s Adoption Day was in the garden at Nott manor. There was a giant table of little canapés - though Matron’s dæmon harshly pecked Harry’s hand when she went for her fourth Pumpkin Pie - and a gaggle of high-society witches fluttering about with their jewell-toned, fluttering or trotting dæmons. 

Harry knew she wouldn’t be adopted: if her untameable red hair, which Matron despaired over, or the strange lightning-bolt shaped scar didn’t assure it, her name certainly would.  
“Potter, did you say?” asked Amos Diggory hesitantly, edging away, his large hound demon almost knocking over the canapé table in their haste. “No, my dear girl, I’m sorry but that won’t do at all...”  
Harry had no idea what her parents had done but it must have been something terrible.

So, more likely to become a galleonaire than be adopted, Harry resolved to have as much fun - “Fun is not the same as chaos, Harry.” hissed Hermione at her side, whose demon Barnaby was curled defensively ‘round her neck, as the little girl shifted nervously from side to side  
\- to have as much fun as she could.

Having already decimated the treacle tart, the next step was exploring, which was how Harry found herself creeping through the dark-wood manor, surrounded by frowning portraits, with Lev tucked into the pocket of her starchy jumper, right over her pounding heart. 

Hearing voices, she ducked quickly into the nearby coat cupboard, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t eat her, as some magical cupboards tended to do.  
The foot-steps froze right outside her cupboard.

“My lord?” questioned the grizzly voice of a man.   
Harry’s heart froze in her chest.

“Nothing.” said a higher voice, smooth and polished. “Have you retrieved the package?”

“Of course, you should have heard how the Flamel bitch screamed -“

“Yes, very good. I am most pleased.”

“What should I do with it?”

“Oh, leave that to me.” There was the sound of someone heavy shifting from foot to foot, almost like they were reluctant, and then something crinkly must have passed hands.

“You will be suitably rewarded, of course.”

“Thank you My Lord.”   
And then both sets of foot-steps strode away. 

Harry slumped over with relief, as Lev shifted into a proud house-cat: “I can’t believe we got away with that!”  
Harry clamped a hand over his furry little mouth. “Shh.” she whispered, although she was grinning wildly too.

Lev wouldn’t stop talking about it as they left the cupboard and crept through the dark halls once more. “What kind of package d’you think it was? And who was the Lord? Lord Nott, maybe. It is his house. Ohhh, I love a mystery.”

They got wildly lost, almost as if the passages were shifting to confuse them, and eventually they were discovered by a frowning, incredulous Lady Nott in her pyjamas. Being dragged back to Hogwarts by their ears, and thoroughly scolded and nipped at by the Matron and her dæmon, was well worth the mystery they had discovered.

Once Harry emerged from her confinement a few days later, she told Hermione everything. For a second, the frizzy-haired witch’s eyes gleamed, with a long-forgotten spark but then her head drooped sadly. “Mysteries mean trouble, Harry - And trouble means - No. Just no.”

“You won’t even have to get involved with the dangerous bits Mione,” Harry promised her friend, tone sympathetic. “and whatever happens I’d protect you. After all, who took the blame in the Great Chocolate Fiasco of ‘86?”

“You did.”

“And who flew away with the stolen books, when the librarian came to search.”

“Lev did.”

And whose your best friend in the Whole Wide Wizarding World.”

“You are.” said Hermione with a small, exasperated grin, then: “Okay, I’ll help.”  
“Brilliant!” yelled Harry, and they got to work. They couldn’t find anything about Flamel in the orphans’ small collection of books - although that was hardly a surprise. Nor, when they snuck into the Hogwart’s library, could they find anything there. Even the ghosts were useless.

Harry and Lev were determined not to give up, though they did call a halt to searching in order to celebrate something very special: their eleventh birthday!  
Usually, birthdays for the orphans just meant a slice of cake at dinner, but eleven was a very special birthday in the Wizarding World, so special that today Harry would get her wand (as well as some deliciously gooey Treacle Tart).

“No mischief today.” hissed the Matron, her grip like iron on Harry’s arm, as her dæmon gripped Lev painfully in its claws, while Harry dramatically waved farewell to the other orphans. And then the Matron, having walked a short distance through the grounds, apparated them away.

Harry felt like she was being forced through a very tight tube, her organs compressed and head squished and unable to breath, until at last she was spat out into the street. “Oh, I could vomit.” she confided to Lev, who wrinkled his little nose as he shifted from a mouse to a bird to escape. Fortunately, Harry soon recovered.

And once she did, she could properly marvel at the Alley before her, mouth dropping open in wonder at the explosion of colour, with windows displaying everything from caged owls to snakes to glittering robes that changed colour in the sun.

“Come.” said the Matron sharply, once more grabbing Harry’s wrist. “Now, we get all the First years’ supplies second hand - Merlin knows how we’d afford them otherwise - at the end of summer, when they’re the cheapest. So the only thing we need to buy today is your wand.”

Harry let herself be dragged through the streets until they came to a dingy grey shop with ‘Ollivanders’ spelt in spindly, silver letters. The bell ‘dinged”’ as they came in, and they were greeted by a young wizard. “Quilliam Ollivander, at your service.” he bowed with a flourish, mop of gold curls flopping as he did so. Harry suppressed a giggle.

“How may I help you Madame? A polish, a fix or a wand?”

“One wand please.” said Harry confidently.

“Hop right up.” said Quilliam, gesturing to a spindly stool. It creaked, but held, under Harry’s tiny weight. 

Quilliam’s dæmom zipped around noting the length of her nose, her hair and her fingernails, while Lev excitedly fluttered by her hair, occasionally trying to play with the hummingbird, only to be batted away by shimmering blue wings.  
“And has your dæmon settled, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Hermione would have raised an eyebrow. It was rather a rude question. But Harry just grinned: “Nope.” she popped out. “I’m not sure if we’ll ever settle, it’s far too much fun to shift.”

The Matron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Flighty little brat.”

“No problem at all.” said Quilliam cheerfully. “It just tends to help narrow down the wand selection, you see. For example, dog dæmons suggest a certain steadiness that goes very well with oak or apple wood. And bird dæmons gravitate towards phoenix or dragon cores, as creatures of the air.”

Quilliam waved his wand elegantly, and a dozen, dusty boxes shot off their shelves. “Let’s see which wand chooses you, Harry Potter.”  
By the hour mark, Harry was leaning towards ‘none of them’. Her hair had been singed by explosions, her glasses covered in soot, and her robes were dripping wet from that one unicorn wand that had really not agreed with her.

“Ahem.” Quilliam coughed, delicately removing the wand from her hand. It, of course, did not splash him with a tidal wave of water.  
“How about something a little less...temperamental.” Quilliam disappeared deep into the back of the shop - deeper than the seemingly narrow store should stretch - muttering something about fire not water, and defensive rather than attacking.

Harry was leaning towards wand lore being bollocks, thoroughly frustrated and now rather cold, as her dripping wet robes clung to shivering skin. Then, Quilliam re-emerged with a very dusty black box, which he held carefully - almost reverently. 

“Now how about this one.” he suggested in a hushed tone.

Harry took the lid off the box, Lev peering curiously over her shoulder, and plucked out the light cherry-wood wand within. Immediately, she felt filled with lightness, and strength: a beautiful music filling the shop as something joyously bubbled in both her and Lev’s souls. Like a missing piece had been slotted in, the third puzzle piece of their magical trio.

“Very good, very good,” whispered Quilliam, his eyes wide with wonder. “for the phoenix whose feather rests in that wand, supplied only one other feather - a brother wand, if you will. And that same wand belongs to our very own Lord Slytherin. Oh, I think we can expect great things from you, Miss Potter. Very great indeed.”

Quilliam refused payment for such a wand and, he whispered to Harry conspiratorially, “Us orphans have to help each other somehow.”  
Harry tried to imagine the bubbly, golden Quilliam in the dusty corridors of Hogwarts. It was almost as strange as picturing their Lord as having once been a child, receiving his wand.

Matron was so pleased to have saved the seven galleons that she let Harry choose an ice-cream at Florian Fortescue’s, and she happily munched on her chocolate fudge ice-cream as they walked through Diagon’s sunny streets, Lev perched on her shoulder and her new wand in her pocket.

Maybe it was Lord Slytherin’s imagination, or he felt a blast of child-like happiness as he was doing his paperwork. Strange, very strange...And why did he suddenly want an ice-cream?

Harry told Hermione all about her adventure in Diagon that night, as they lay, head to toe, in bed. Of course, in Harry’s re-telling, the Matron’s grip was vice-like, and the moment she received her wand the greatest, most wondrous in the world, and the ice-cream just the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted.

Hermione oohed and aahed appropriately, wishing her own trip to buy her wand had been anywhere near as dramatic, while Barnaby curled around Lev, having missed him. They fell asleep like that, warm and content, and Harry having worn out her sugar high and tired from all the excitement.

They weren’t meant to use magic in the summer before First Year, which of course meant that they practised spells any time they could. Harry and Lev went on a daring adventure to steal the ‘Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1’ and - more importantly - ‘Jinxes for the Jinxed’. 

They spent a fun summer turning Matron’s hair blue, and blaming it on accidental magic, or silencing Justin Flinch-Fletchley when he got too pompous (that saw Harry’s wand be taken away for the week, and she was so despondent not even Lev could cheer her up).

Hermione and Barnaby, however, took a far more academic interest in the books, their eyes shining almost manically at the list of spells to learn before school, and ways she could defend herself. Harry spent many nights covering her head with a pillow and groaning, as Hermione read by the light of a perfectly-cast lumos deep into the night.

Soon though, it was August 31st, and Harry was almost shaking with excitement. Lev was no better, shifting from a dragon uncontrollably puffing smoke, to a dog who couldn’t stop running in circles. Finally, they could walk through the rest of Hogwarts in daylight, there would be so many people to prank and Hermione could accompany them without fear -

“Hermione,” Harry spoke gently to her friend, who had become gradually quieter and more sombre, as the start of term approached. “it won’t be as bad as you think. Not everyone’s like Bellatrix and, anyway, you have me and Lev to protect you, remember?”

Hermione looked at her, seeming very old despite her young body. “There are people not even you can protect me from, Harry, or you Lev. And what if we’re not together?”

Harry froze. She had never considered - not even for a milli-second - that they wouldn’t be in the same house. 

“We’ll be together.” swore Harry. “I swear on Merlin’s most baggy pink underpants.”

Hermione giggled, which turned into a shriek as Harry tickled her mercilessly. “That’s for saying something so stupid, which is a very un-Hermione-like thing to do.” Harry told her laughing victim. And then they fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with images of hissing snakes and roaring lions and - for Harry - a flash of cold, green light.


	2. Don't count your owls before they're delivered.

Draco’s dæmon Aster had settled as a snow lynx unusually early at the age of ten.

Draco supposed it was because he and Aster knew exactly who they were - the thirty-seventh lord and his dæmon of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. Draco liked to think that meant he had unusual grace and decorum, although Aster told him he could be, ‘A bit of a twat’. 

And, with the same certainty that had helped Aster settle, Draco knew he was going to go to Hogwarts and be sorted into Slytherin, where he’d make his House proud as the most amazing Seeker and Head Boy the school had ever seen. Aster swatted him with her silvery paw.  
“Ow! What was that for?”  
“You were wearing your ‘pre-emptively gloating about future triumphs face’.”  
“Evil dæmon.” muttered Draco. Aster nipped his pinky toe.

Harry paused outside a compartment, hearing yelps coming from within. “What do you think, Lev?” she asked her dæmon, who’d taken the form of a lion in preparation for their sorting into Gryffindor. “I don’t know…”  
“If we want to be in Gryffindor Lev, we have to be brave, and face the beast behind these doors - “ 

“Beast?” Draco squeaked indignantly. “Did you hear that Aster?”  
He tore open the carriage door, filled with righteous rage, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of a giant gold lion. “A Gryffindor. I should have known.”  
“Future Gryffindor.” said the red-headed girl cheerfully.  
“That’s hardly better.” protested Draco, who noticed Aster getting rather too close to the lion for his liking, and drew her back protectively with a hand on her ruff.  
“Red hair, hand me down robes, prospective Gryffindor - you must be a Weasley.”

Ron Weasley, who was searching for a compartment, perked up at a mention of his surname - Bella padding along at his side - than frowned.  
“You’re not my sister.” he scratched his head. “Are you one of Sixtus’ kids? I can never keep track.”

Draco chose this moment to re-claim the situation. “Bah! Weasleys, you always have bred like, like - ‘  
“Weasels?” Harry interjected helpfully.  
“I don’t need your help frog brains.”

Ron turned an angry shade of red. “Don’t speak to my cousin like that.”  
⁃ “Umm, technically, we’re only seventh cousins - “  
“Do you want to fight, Weasel?”

Aster rolled her eyes and retreated back into the compartment.

“Bring it on Malfoy.”

“Winner gets the compartment.” Harry piped in.

The three first years withdrew their wands and bowed solemnly to each other - only for Ron to keel over clutching his toe. “The toe-stub hex! You slimy cheater. You have to wait for your partner to finish their bow.”  
“What can I say.” Draco smirked. “We Slytherins value alternative rules.”

Harry, who had spent the summer practising prank spells and was by now quite fed up with Draco, turned his hair a violent pink colour, then directed a banishing hex at his bottom, sending the Slytherin-hopeful careening into the next carriage. Aster padded exasperatedly after her human.

“Come on then.” Harry said to Ron, who was by now somewhat recovered, with a grin. “We are seventh cousins after all.”

They settled opposite one another on the worn leather seats, Lev at Harry’s feet and Bella in Ron’s lap. He clutched tightly with one hand to his knitted jumper, and with the other hand stroked the Copper Spaniel’s fur almost out of habit.

“So,” began Harry hesitantly, having never really talked to some-one she hadn’t known since she was a baby. “do you have a favourite Quidditch team?”

Ron’s face lit up, and his fingers unclenched from his maroon jumper. “The Chudley Cannons of course. Only the greatest team to ever fly from Devon.”

Harry “Hmmed” appreciatively, although she was more of a Holyhead Harpies girl herself (and the Cannons are pants). She told Ron this, carefully censoring her - and the entire Wizarding World’s - opinion of the Cannons.

“Oh, my sister Ginny loves the Harpies, so does my brother Bill, although I think that’s just because he likes watching witches on brooms, if you get what I mean - “

Thankfully the Trolly Witch interrupted. Harry had been about to send a second toe-stub hex at Ron.

“Would you like anything from the trolly, dears?” Harry proffered forth a token, with the Hogwarts crest printed on it in shimmering gold.  
“Oh, lovely dear.” the Trolly Witch looked at her with unmistakable pity. “that will get you one of anything or two pasties.”  
“I’ll take a Chocolate Frog please.”

“Where do you get those tokens from?” asked Ron, who was looking rather dejectedly at his own corned beef sandwich.

“All the kids at the Orphanage get one for their first ride on the Express.”

Ron ginger freckles looked almost luminous on his suddenly ashen cheeks. “Oh Galloping Gorgons,” he said softly. “I didn’t realise - “  
“No worries.” said Harry lightly, Lev rubbing himself comfortingly against her torn green tights. 

“Why are you on the Hogwarts Express then, if you live at the castle?”

“Well, we have the option of being portkeyed to the Platform, and Lev and I thought it would be fun, although we couldn’t convince Hermione - “

The Chocolate Frog, still in its packaging, had managed through violent wriggling to roll off the seat and hit the fuzzy compartment floor with a dull ‘thud’.

“Cheeky little bugger.” Harry muttered, tearing off the wrapper. “You want some?” she asked Ron.

He agreed easily enough - it wasn’t charity if someone was worse off than you, right? - and Harry chewed violently down on the head, feeling a little vindictive after the frog tried to escape, then passed the body to Ron, who ate the gooey chocolate appreciatively.

Harry flipped over her card eagerly, then groaned. “Dung beetles. I got the Dark Lord again.”

His Most Magnificent Darkness glared moodily at her lack of appreciation, his dæmon Nagini twined elegantly around his shoulders.

Ron mumbled something indecipherable through a mouthful of chocolate, then hastily swallowed and tried again. “I swear there’s cauldron loads more cards of the Dark Lord than any other Chocolate Frog card.”

“D’you think they spy on us?”

The photo of the Dark Lord attempted to look remarkably innocent. Harry rolled her eyes and tossed it to Lev, who chewed down on the chocolate-covered remnants appreciatively.

By the time English pastures gave way to Scottish wilds, Harry had been updated on most of her seventh cousins, though she was certain she’d mix up Theodore and Arcturus if she ever met them in real life, and Ron went - blushing violently - with Bella to the bathroom to change into his robes.

Lev ‘oohed’ appreciatively as Harry twirled in her newish school robes. “They’ll look even better with a red and gold tie.”

“Thanks Lev.” said Harry softly, threading her fingers through his mane, like she hadn’t since she was a baby. 

They left the train in a sea of students and shimmering serpents, soaring dragons and even a koi fish clutched protectively in a small bowl, making their way to the sallow-faced man with beady eyes and a crow batting its wings above his head, wheezing, “First years, four to a boat.”  
Harry and Lev slipped into the nearest dingy, Ron and Bella thankfully joining them, along with a little blonde girl with plaits and a loud Irish boy.

Harry caught sight of Draco, and was sad to note his hair was once again blond, although he seemed to keep checking his reflection in the water, until his dæmon Aster tried to nudge him in.

They were greeted by a stocky woman, whose stubby fingers twitched around her dark Hawthorn wand as though eager to curse someone, and she leered rather unpleasantly at the First Years (Harry wondered if Hermione had been right not to come after all).

“Through these doors,” she said in a raspy voice. ‘you will face a terrible trial, worse than the Cruciatus - “  
The little blonde girl from Harry’s boat looked as if she was about to faint. The woman broke into a wheezy giggle.  
“Oh, you should have seen the little midgets’ faces Amycus.”

“Very good Alecto.”

Alecto continued. “I am Professor Carrow, your Muggle,” she sneered at the word. “Studies professor, and unless you brats are mudbloods you ought to know that you’ll be sorted by a piece of junk called the Sorting Hat. Any questions?”

Several trembling hands shot up.

“Didn’t think so. Amycus, if you would?”

The sallow-faced man waved his wand in a figure of eight at the doors before them, coated with thick strings of chains, and ominously singing with the kind of magic that hints at cursing (so powerful just standing next to it made Harry’s blood freeze unpleasantly in her veins, and her heart thump rapidly like it might burst). The chains reluctantly slithered away, and the doors creaked open. 

The hall before them was grand and beautiful, and filled with the few children from the orphanage who hadn’t caught the Express. 

“Hermione.” yelled Harry happily, wrapping her friend in a hug, as Lev nuzzled at the pocket in her robes which held Barnaby, today in the form of a dormouse. 

Hermione, once released from the hug, clutched Harriet’s hand so tightly she felt like it was being pressed beneath iron, her face the colour of curdled milk, and she refused to let go all the way through the Sorting Hat’s song, until her own name was called: “Hermione Granger.”  
There were several minutes of deliberation, while the hungry students on the benches muttered impatiently, and Harry heard Draco say, “She must be a mudblood with a name like that. I bet she isn’t even magical enough to sort - “  
“Gryffindor.” yelled the hat, almost reluctantly.  
Harry elbowed Draco roughly on the blond boy’s way way up.

“Gryffindor.” The hat proclaimed with barely a second’s thought, and the blond boy squeaked slightly, looking so upset – his grey eyes almost silver with tears – that Harry felt almost bad for him.

“Theodore Nott.”

And then: “Harriet Potter.”  
A slight murmur ran across the Hall like a wave. “Those Potters?” she heard someone hiss, before the hat was pulled over her head rather roughly.  
“Gryffindor.” she thought over and over.  
“You’re certainly brave enough, that needs no work. Your intelligence on the other hand - “  
“Hey!” Harry protested.  
“Well you hardly think things through, do you? And while you’re loyal to a fault I wouldn’t classify you as hard-working. Now, why do you want to be in Gryffindor? It’s your ambition, isn’t it?”  
“Well, yes.”  
“The only thing you know of your parents.”  
“I really don’t see how this is relevant - “  
“That drive, the love for green, the sneakiness of your pranks and those certain - abilities. Why, there’s only one place for you - “

“SLYTHERIN!”

“No!” cried Harry, rather loudly, and a table of two hundred students glared at her in affront.


End file.
